Into the Wild: Hogwarts Style
by The Brat Prince
Summary: The official Hogawarts camping trip. Ah the mayhem, the slashy possiblities. Ah, the sucky title. I make em up as I go along...


Fall From Grace

By: The Brat Prince

Disclaimer: Do I really need one? If I was JKR, or any other writer I would have a pool and it would be filled with money. Think Uncle Scrooge on Duck Tails. It would all be ones granted, but you get my point. 

Ah….I need a beta-reader. I can't edit this thing all by myself and I don't trust any of my friends to actually do it. **Sigh** So please excuse the grammar or typos. There's a couple, but not enough to really piss anyone off like that stuff does to me.

_Don't think cuz we're talking; we're friends._

            I never really liked camping. See, with my parents being such big executives and all, they never really appreciated the great out doors. I always thought I did, playing soccer and all, but then one of my friends asked me to go camping with him. The bugs, the dirt, the rain, the sounds, I hated it. I was a bit more of a spoilt prat than I liked to admit.

            So the announcement of the joint-house camping trip wasn't exactly the pinnacle of my existence. Especially when I learned it would be Gryffindor and Slytherin first week and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw second. Right then I wished I was in either of those houses, even if it meant never lifting my eyes from a book again. 

            See, spending my time with all the testosterone filled Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth years was not my idea of fun. I could see it, a perfect sketch in my head, like most things. Harry and Ron would be in a race against Malfoy to see who could be more macho and start a fire and probably burn down the whole forest, Malfoy would laugh and try to compete against Seamus for the position of school slut; and I'm not even going into what that entails; and Neville would just, I don't know, blow something up. Plus the chaperones were Fred and George Weasley plus Oliver Wood along with Professor Snape. Professor MgGonagall would be overseeing the girls. 

            I contemplated getting a sex-change. 

            "Hey, Dean!" My line of sight was filled with Seamus in all his glory. I often wonder how he became my best friend. He who is always smiling, always laughing. At least, that's the way it used to be. Always genuine, no baloney. And then he came back this year and decided he needed to 'get to know' half of the Hogwarts population better, giving Malfoy a run for his money. Lately, his bouncy personality and constant smiles had seemed so forced. 

            However whenever I asked about it I felt some vehement emotion that I didn't want to deal with emanating from my friend. I always dropped it. 

            "Excited about the big camping trip?" He asked, blue eyes bright.

            "Not really," I replied, "Snape said we can only bring what they tell us, and McGonagall already said I can't bring my sketchbook. What am I going to do for a week without my sketchbook?" Okay, so I wasn't really that concerned. I'd lived without my book before by creating the images in my head. Not quite as satisfying; the lines weren't as clear, but it would do.

            "Use nature. A stick and dirt will do just fine." Seamus grinned. It was the grin a person got after only one thing.

            "You useless git. Who was it this time?" I asked, tired of hearing about Seamus's latest conquests but nonetheless asking. I always asked, because no one else would. Someone needed to listen to the idiot.

            "That second year, um I think her name's Tarryn. Her brother's cute too, Timothy is." He nodded as he spoke. 

            "A second year? You realize you're turning sixteen in around two weeks, right? You realize she's only say twelve?" I had to say, this was a new low, "Did you run out of people to fuck or something?" 

            Something akin to hurt flashed across my friend's face so quickly I wasn't even sure it had been there at all. He gave me a huge grin, and this time I was sure it was forced, "Yeah, this school does get smaller everyday. We need some fresh new blood." 

            "Don't say that," I played along with the game, I didn't ask, I didn't press, "You'll jinx our peaceful school year. We don't need another Moaning Myrtle."

            Seamus laughed, such a nice noise, "Yeah, yeah. Harry will have his hands full. So, is that the only reason you don't want to go? No sketchbook?" No. That wasn't the reason. Like I said, I didn't need it. I am an artist after all, and if I want art, all I need is to look around me. Everything is art, and beauty, even at the depths of despair. Even in Seamus's false smiles. That was the reason I didn't want to go, aside from my loathing of camping. I couldn't stand to be around Seamus for a full weak. He made me feel guilty, depressed. Not happy and carefree, like last year. 

            Something was wrong with him, and it was something I couldn't fix. Or maybe I could, but I didn't know how. 

            "Nah, I just hate sleeping in dirt. It screws with my hair." And I returned his devil-may-care grin, just as false.

            "Professor, you mean we have to sleep in the dirt?" Draco Malfoy demanded indignantly, his stunning form outlined by a halo of light from the rapidly setting sun. Clouds formed in the distance.

            "You'll have sleeping bags and a tent," Professor Snape replied gruffly, not wanting to irritate his favorite student or invoke the wrath of McGonagall who stood watching the ordeal. 

            Harry laughed, finding it amusing. "Maybe that will take the git down a few notches," he told Ron and Hermione, "I wish I had a camera." 

            Hermione laughed, while Ron looked confused as to what a camera was, "Oh, I wish I could watch as well. As it is I'll be stuck with Lavender and Parvati exchanging makeup tips and Pansy trying to kill us. But that Ravenclaw prefect Percy broke up with last year, Penelope? She should be interesting. I've heard she has a fine appreciation of books!" She exclaimed. Ron rolled his eyes.

            "Honestly, you could at least read something interesting. I know, I'll buy you one of those historical romance books for Christmas." He drawled.

            "You haven't seen the supply in her room? She's got a cartload of 'em." Harry replied.

            Hermione blushed. Ron whistled, "Hermione's got those things in her room? They're practically porn!"

            "They are not! They're romantic and- and well-they're art!"

            "Fine, they're artistic porn," Ron answered with a knowing look. Hermione looked away, "Someone's fallen victim to those teenaged hormones, hasn't she?" He taunted. 

            "Whose hormones?" One of the Weasley twins asked casually, appearing from nowhere, the other not far behind. Nowhere happened to be behind Hermione.

            "George! Don't do that, you scared me to death." She exclaimed, pale.

            "I'm Fred!" The twin protested, the other nodding in agreement.

            "No you're not, George!" Ron argued.

            "I'm George. You would think my own little brother would know who I am," The other twin said woefully, then looked at the first, "Guess we're just Gred and Forge to him after all. Alas," He place a hand dramatically over his forehead, "Dear Forge, only you and I shall ever know the truth."

            "Now I know you're Fred. George isn't such a drama queen." Fred snapped his fingers and looked at George as Ron smiled, satisfied.

            "He knows. We might have to kill him." George rolled his eyes at his brother's antics.

            "So, as I was saying, who's hormones?" Hermione's face was the color of a cherry. Not a real one, one of those artificial ice cream sundae topper cherries.

            "Hey, is that Dean? Why does he look so…so…" Harry asked.

            "So blah?" Ron put in helpfully.

            "Actually, yes. Why does he look so down? Where's Seamus?"

            "All over Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode. The boy's taste is deterioting at a rapid rate. If I was Dean, I'd be pretty bummed tool," Ron observed casually, "He's had a thing for Seamus since he first met him," He blushed, "Oh, don't tell him I said that! I don't think he even realizes it."

            "Ronnie," Fred drawled slyly, "You've been keeping secrets. Who would have known-"

            "You were such a gossiper?" George finished for him. Ron's ears were even redder than Hermione's face.

            "At least it's not Pansy," Hermione put in, "She scares me."

            "Wasn't he with that second year, Tarryn yesterday? And you know, the Slytherin Quidditch captain, Marcus Flint. And at the beginning of the year, with the chaser, Adrian Pucey?" Ron wondered.

            George eyed him, "You, little brother, seem quite interested in Mr. Finnigan's life."

            "No, I'm more interested in Malfoy's." Everyone stared at him in shock.

            "What? Know your enemy, right? And aside from Harry, Seamus is pissing Malfoy off the most in this school. I guess the title of school slut is a delicate thing." He shrugged, ignoring the way George and Fred both had strange half furious half knowing half amused looks on their faces. Wait, was that too many halves?

            Harry just nodded, "Right. Look, Malfoy and Snape are done arguing. I take that to mean-"

            "We're off!" George's uncanny ability to finish people's sentences not just limited to his twin.

            Fred started singing the death march.


End file.
